


Rooftops

by Anon_M



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 21:16:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon_M/pseuds/Anon_M
Summary: The assortment of rooftop conversations and a shortly explained love between a king and akiller.





	Rooftops

**Author's Note:**

> They are not related

Stale air in the apartment felt suffocating, blue paint of the ceiling so far from the color of the sky that if one stared at it too long, it felt like they were floating in space. It took a moment for him to orientate himself with the room, so different from the open walls and high ceilings.

With a hushed breath, dark hands pushed him up, the mattress bending beneath him.

Warm air flooded under the dark blue blankets that he lay beneath, taking away the homesickness and replacing it with heighten familiarity.

T’Challa could hear the water running from the bathroom, the steam warming the room. As he stood, the memories from the last few months flooded back.

The face of Erik Killmonger was so vivid in his mind, the draw to call out to him was nearly impossible to dismiss. The scent was intoxicating, overwhelming as he woke slowly.

He waited, knowing of the other panthers' presence in his newly found home was a comfort. A new part of his life, yet one of the only ones that gave him such a sense of security, stood only feet away.

“Ay, T.” Erik’s voice broke through the quiet apartment and forced T’Challa to let out a breath he never realized he was holding in.

The voice released a tension in him that was stacking itself upon of bits of stress within him, crushing him from the inside out. Missions, kingdoms, wars, and the busy work of a king had pushed him to a breaking a point.

A point that had pushed him back to Erik in this warm apartment in Oakland, California.

T’Challa pressed his feet onto the carpet, pushing his shoulders back as he stood.

The light beside the bed shone bright with a yellow light, a glow of gold thrown across the room. He shuffled towards the open bathroom, leaning against the frame.

Erik stood with a towel loose around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth.

After a moment, T’Challa stepped forward, leaning his head against the dark skin of Erik’s back.

“You hungry, Cub?” The feeling of vibration through his back further calmed T’Challa, his scent feeling the king's nose and lungs as he stood still.

“Are you?’ The king responded, moving only to get closer to Erik, smiling into his back.

He felt Erik shake his head at the question, not to say no but in feigned annoyance.

“Why ya gotta answer a question with a question?”

➤➤➤

His legs dangled over the ledge, wind whipping his jacket around him.

It would’ve been cold if he didn’t have a chest pressed against his back, or warm breath brushing past his ear every few moments.

Erik was talking away about the different memories he had from this roof, through basketballs to shooting bullets, an array of insanity spilled from his mouth to dish out a surprise to T’Challa.

It had been like this for months, Erik taking him up on buildings just to tell stories, to sit with his arms wrapped around the thin waist of the Wakandan ruler.

Occasionally, he would ask questions of T’Challa, poking and prodding about the simple life in Wakanda.

Yet, T’Challa would always say the same thing,

“Nothing is as simple as you make it out to be.”

Erik had his response, a kiss pressed to T’Challa’s temple and a whisper saying

“I know.”

They would sit there, telling stories and listening to the wind with disregard for the passage of time.

The sun went down, purple and pink etching their way across the sky, giving way to dark blue.

Stars sprinkled them across the blue of night, the busy world outside of rooftops forgotten.

It took them hours to take note of the replacement of the sun by the moon, and the abundance of stars.

“Do you miss Wakanda?” Erik spoke softly, only loud enough to speak over the cars that drove past every now and then.

T’Challa took his time to answer, weighing the caution of the next words to leave his mouth.

“What answer would make you feel better?” Each word was measured, even and smooth as he spoke, his heart beat with growing intensity to match his anxiety.

“The honest one,” he said, “whichever answer tells me the truth.” T’Challa could feel the tensing of Erik’s chest behind him, the quick build-up of stress that followed with any risque conversation they had.

“The honest answer is that I would rather die here beneath the stars with you than take a trip home to Wakanda.”

With a pause, Erik responded, “Honorable sounding.”

“You know that I’m not all that, right? You’re a King.”

The sound of passing cars and far away conversations filled the void between words, the push and pull of worldly background noise drowning out heavy words.

“Kingdoms are full of people to be responsible for and so many duties that crush you. You do not get too simply live. I stay here because I get to live a life with you that was never an option before.”

Erik was again quiet when T’Challa spoke, words pushing him into his head to think.

“But do you miss it?”

The world was still, the concrete below them becoming a grounding element.

“I will always miss my homeland, just as you will always miss yours. You have your stories, and I have mine. Back on my own rooftops.”


End file.
